


The Debate

by TheSoulOfAStrawberry



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Allegory, Character Study, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Trans Character, Trans Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 00:11:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18457493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSoulOfAStrawberry/pseuds/TheSoulOfAStrawberry
Summary: Peter's debate class takes on the Accords and the registration of mutants, and he wonders if he's been missing a vital part of being a superhero.





	The Debate

It started with Enrichment week.

“The Sokovia Accords were ratified by 117 nations in 2016, following a three-year committee review in the Senate on the activities of the Avengers which gained recognition following the events in the Principality of Sokovia that same year…”

Peter stared down at the worksheet, head ducked to obscure his face. He thanks May’s paycheck that they’d yet to get his hair cut, as an overgrown fringe gave almost as much comfort as his Spider-man mask, given the circumstances.

Not a lot of things started with Enrichment week. It was a liminal space: a week of crossover classes and whatever the school board deemed as “enriching” that year, between the end of the spring curriculum and spring break. Peter could do anything from cookery to statistical analysis at Coney Island- though of course, Peter had vandalised the packet he’d been sent home with long before May could sign him up to bake cookies. And well, if he didn’t see Coney Island for a long, _long_ while, it wouldn’t bother him.

Or maybe that wasn’t quite right. Freshman enrichment week had been eventful- he’d gone on the field trip to Oscorp run by his biology teacher Ms Nguyen, got bitten by a radioactive spider, and spent the rest of the week off school in a feverish haze. Things hadn’t really been the same since.

“I’m sure you’ve all seen the topic of our discussion on the hand-outs, which is a particularly hotly debated clause of the Accords that are currently being lobbied by activist groups for enhanced individuals. I’m sure you’ll have no problems researching debates whichever side you’re on, but remember to be thorough in order to cover the holes the other team might exploit in your argument…”

This year, Peter signed up for in-school events only. All the boring stuff no one (not even at a nerd school) wanted to do, like mathletes challenge or an introduction to C# for Unity. He couldn’t have been less interested in a repeat of the previous year. Nope, it was going to be as normal and banal as possible. No Oscorp, no spider bites, and not even any Tony Stark, since he was in Manila to present at a conference (he’d not told Peter that when he’d cancelled their Friday afternoon, but it didn’t take a genius-level IQ to use Google). Just whatever was cheap and kept him in Queens, head down, feet on the ground.

God, May’s constant worrying was rubbing off on him.

“We could just do AcaDeca for like. The whole week,” Ned had pointed out, nose deep in reams of paper. Peter was craning over his shoulder, resting an elbow on Ned’s arm, not particularly wanting to dig for his own packet in his rucksack on the crowded late-afternoon F-train. Not when his Spider-man suit was in there, somewhere. Knowing the infamous Parker luck, it’d be the one time he hadn’t zipped up the hidden pocket at the bottom of his bag. 

“No you can’t, dumbass. Firstly, it’s an introduction to AcaDeca, so basically like quizzes to get Mr Harrington to rope some poor fuckers into joining AcaDeca next semester. Secondly, if you were listening, you’d know if you did that you’ll just get your form rejected by the office and all the places on shit you actually want to do would be gone by the time you resubmit.”

“Also Ned, I’m pretty sure it’s just be us three there. Decathalon doesn’t exactly have a waitlist. No offence, that’d be weird.”

Ned turned to Peter, face grave. “Are you saying we should see other people Peter?”

“You losers would be into a two-day public speaking and debate retreat. It might help you use your words,” MJ interrupted, raising her eyebrows pointedly as Peter punched Ned lightly in the arm.

The boys had groaned, but put up no form of resistance as Michelle pointed to the tick-box they needed to fill in and get a signature for. The rest, as they say, was history.

“…You’ve got all morning to research your arguments and present them within your team, and while this isn’t marked, I’m expected to make sure you get something out of this, so please don’t leave it up to one person in your group to do all the research. We’ve booked out Lab 5 for computers so you’ve got free reign, and if anyone wants markers and sugar paper to map out ideas I’ve got some up front here…”

There’s a list of keywords at the top of his worksheet, with a suggesting to research and define each to start out.

_Enhanced person_  
_Sokovia Accords_  
_Avengers Initiative_  
_Prof. Charles Xavier_  
_Thaddeus Ross_  
_Dr. Antonio Stark_  
_Captain America/ Steve Rogers_  
_Attack on IFID Headquarters (Lagos Catastrophe)_  
_SHIELD_  
_New York Supermax Detainment Centre for Enhanced Individuals_

The list went on, weirdly not in alphabetical order. Wasn’t Mr Efthimiou a stickler for stuff like that? 

“Enrichment week is a chance to work with people you don’t normally work with on things you’re not used to, so we’re going to make an effort to push you out of your comfort zone…”

He chanced a glance up, hoping then man wasn’t looking his way. He looked tired. He guessed even the teachers couldn’t wait for spring break.

“Now, line down the middle- Mo, Peter, Jane, that side, Ned, Naomi, Michelle, you guys are on the other side, um, to even it out a little you can go this side Chien-Yi… OK?”

Of course they were put into groups by the supervisor. Of course it was split down the middle of the classroom. Of course the line saw him on one side, and Ned and MJ on the other, looking at him with an expression of mock sorrow, hiding maybe a little bit of real sorrow.

_Should enhanced peoples be monitored by the government?_

Of course he was arguing for the monitoring of enhanceds.

So that’s how Peter’s Monday morning started, cradling his head in his hands in Lab 5, trying to make himself as small as possible so no one asked him why he’d only done 5 of the 20 definitions, or hand him a marker to chart out, on green A3 sugar paper, why people like him should be registered, microchipped, and monitored.

He was being melodramatic. It didn’t matter, not really. No one knew he was enhanced, so it was all theoretical; all he had to do was play a part, and that should be easy enough, because although a few of them were trying to map out points on green sugar paper, they all wore the same mask of fatigue that said they were playing a part as much as him. It was the last stretch to spring break, but they couldn’t completely slack off, because once the new semester started up again, Mr Efthimiou would be back to preparing his AP American Literature classes for finals, and Peter knew about 90% of the students unfortunate enough to have signed up for this “retreat” were on that course too.

For a moment, he hates Tony Stark. He stares down at that name- the one he got stuck at- a man like that turns up on Peter’s doorstep- him, _Peter_ , sad, poor, orphaned Peter Parker- and he was supposed to believe the billionaire tech mogul thought he was something special? Fat chance. It was his own stupid fault for playing into it, not putting up more of a fight, maybe asking, um, I don’t know Peter, why did Mr Stark have a black eye? It wasn’t an internship or mentoring, it was just business. And he’d taken it the worst way possible, no research, no questions, no common sense. Michelle was right. Heck, Flash was right. It was all bullshit.

But no, this wasn’t Mr Stark. Not really. He shook his head, as if the negative thoughts could leak out his head, and Mo glanced over for a second, quirking his eyebrow but not meeting Peter’s eyes before he turned back to where the group were discussing whether to present cases studies at the start, or leave them for backing up points later.

If it weren’t for Mr Stark, he’s pretty sure he’d be a squished spider by now. Or drowned. Yeah, he’d probably have drowned in the Hudson. Down came the rain, and all that.

Plus, who was he kidding. He’d idolised Tony Stark since he was old enough to understand who he was- so probably about 5, when the man first hit the news in a big way, after Afghanistan. Or maybe a little after that- the whole Afghanistan thing was so hazy he had to Google it after he’d gotten back from Germany. So the Stark Expo Fiasco it was then. Since then, since the man himself had saved his life, even if the memory was so hazy it was less a memory and more a sudden thrill of exhilaration whenever he tried to think about that night. A long time, either way.

He buckles down in the end and gathers up some points, trying to keep himself as detached from the whole thing as possible as he browses a page entitled “AAE: Americans Against Enhanceds”, a sleek and professional website littered with dogwhistle terms that hint at a deeper unease, a hatred even, for people like him, without ever going so far as to outright say they should all be put down for the greater good. He handed the sheet to Abby, who added his points to the sugar paper in the section about enhanceds being social liabilities. He tries (and fails) not to notice the Staten Island Ferry incident has made it onto that sheet, in the top left corner, and he wonders if he should practice trying to keep a straight face, or at least not to go beet red. 

“So before we start, I’m guessing I picked a controversial enough topic that you’ve all heard about the Accords before? Quick show of hands.”

Peter didn’t feel awkward when everyone in this classroom put their hands up. But this day was already going badly, so why stop there?

“Did you find the research easy enough to conduct? The department wants your feedback on these sessions so we can improve it for next time, so if you think you didn’t have enough time- or too much time, or anything else, now’s the time to speak up.”

There’s a few murmurs, before Mo shrugs and says, “I think it was just right to be honest sir,” to which there’s a general murmur of agreement.

“So icebreakers might be cool next time, I felt weird having to introduce myself and then go straight into working,” someone else points out.

“That’s fair,” Mr Efthimiou nods, “Thanks for the feedback. So you all think you did pretty well with the research side of things? And where does everyone stand on this? Personally speaking. You don’t have to share if you don’t want to, I just want to see if it’s as much of a split with your generation as it is with the rest of America.”

There’s murmurs again, and Peter’s lips thin into a line. No one is paying him any mind, but all the same he feels watched, his spider-sense prickling the hairs on the back of his neck.

“OK, OK, we’re going to test your theories and research in a minute, but show of hands, who thinks monitoring is a good idea?”

Peter can’t help but look. Maybe a little under half the class has their hands up, some unsure, and MJ’s face is stony as she folds her hands across her front.

“So guessing the rest of you are against it? Well, looking forward to hearing both sides then- who knows, maybe your debate skills are good enough to sway some of your classmates minds- we can check in at the end. For, would you like to read your opening statement?”

A girl Peter thinks might be called Lisa pulls the sugar paper towards her, clear her throat, and tugs at the strings on her hoodie.

“Enhanced, adjective. Enhanced describes something that has been increased or made better, where such things as quality, value or power have been heightened or improved. However, as we’re sure students like you at Midtown School of Science and Technology can appreciate, Newton’s third law- for every reaction, there must be an equal reaction. So, for every increase of power, there needs to be an increase of regulation, in order to make sure the forces that keep America running are balanced, and the laws of physics and the American courts are respected. And for every enhancement of an individual, that individual should be expected to make a sacrifice for the greater good. Not only does the documentation and regulation of enhanceds level the playing field in regulating and enforcing the law of the land for enhanced peoples by non-enhanced peoples, courts and police forces, it also helps to tackle a myriad of other issues related to the phenomenon of enhanced peoples, for example the spread of mutations in a population; vigilantism and associated property damage; potential special measures in schooling, policing and housing; potential threats to national security; and for scientific understanding and advancement to benefit the whole human race. Of course, the list goes on, but our opening statement does not. Thank you.”

“Very good, great work For! Against, opening statement?”

“Well, “For” opened with a great point about the meaning of enhanced as being better. So, you know, maybe people who are better than the average Joe have something to offer us as a society and as a nation, rather than something to be feared, reigned in or controlled?” One guy began, speaking louder and more naturally than Lisa had. He looks over his shoulder and nods.

“These are wizards, tech geniuses, people that can control the weather, a guy who can climb up walls and make terrible jokes- to name but a few,” MJ says, and Peter swears she winks at him. “Their talents are wide-ranging and cannot, or more importantly, should not, be regulated under a single blanket rule that compromises its inefficiency and negligence with restrictions on the basic freedoms of innocent people.”

The next girl is less sure of herself, reading from paper with her head bowed. “Besides the logistical challenge of regulating enhanced peoples in a country still suffering under austerity, sub-par healthcare and infrastructure, national debt and enough ideological splits as is, we have the duty to ask the morality question: why are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness inalienable rights, unless you’re considered an alien?”

“Boom, mic drop!” another kid adds loudly, and the girl smiles wanly to the laughs that erupt, much to Mr Efthimiou’s protests.

“Alright, settle down. I’m assuming that’s it for your opening statement? Short and snappy, I like it. Now, I’m chairing but I want you guys to lead this, so I’m going to let this run like a relaxed conversation, but I will step in and make you put your hands up if things get too rowdy. So, does anyone have any comebacks on the opening statement made by your opposing team? Chien-Yi, you go…”

As Chien-Yi immediately employs a case study, eliciting a bloom of whispers to Peter’s right, and he feels like it would be better if the things that were being said had conviction behind them. No shade to Mr Efthimiou’s class, of course- Peter shivered- it wasn’t as if it wasn’t good public speaking, it just felt very… political. Detached. As if this was all hypothetical.

As the debate gets going around him, he shrinks down further in his seat.

“The accords are unfair on mutants,” says a blonde on the other side of the class, and Peter chances a look up. “They were formulated by Stark to bias him and his cronies, just like the formation of the Department of Damage Control and its bias in its relationship with Stark Industries as a primary consultant. Which wouldn’t matter too much if it was just a business deal…”

“Isn’t Stark a mutant though? He used to have that thing in his chest.”

“The arc reactor didn’t classify him as a mutant because it’s more of an assistive technology. It’d be like arguing asthmatic athletes who use inhalers were at an unfair advantage- it just brings him up to everyone else’s speed. Plus, you’d be able to tell. It’s not like Stark can do the shit Spider-Man pulls.”

“Language please! Remember, this is about all enhanced individuals, not just the Avengers. Put your research to work. And can we avoid the word “mutant”, please.”

“Spider-man isn’t an Avenger sir!” comes a retort from behind Peter.

“Isn’t he? He’s head-to-toe Stark Lite, c’mon.”

“That hasn’t been confirmed though, he was using the webs since the beginning so maybe it’s all his ideas, he just got some funding?” Peter likes whoever said that, even if it’s not really true.

“OK, ok, the Avengers and Spider-man. Think a little less crime fighting, a little more Holly Baker- somebody researched her case, right? 2003? No…? Oh… Ok… Moving on from the Avengers anyway. Against, you next… Parker? You’ve been pretty quiet.”

24 sets of eyes turned to him, but Peter focused on the sheet in front of him.

_Should enhanced peoples be monitored by the government?_

“I… Um…” He eventually looked up, and found MJ gazing at him steadily from across the room, something not unlike pity pulling her lips taut. For once in his life, Peter found himself not wanting to look at her, instead pulling his gaze to the front of the class where Mr Efthimiou had his arms folded expectantly.

“Um… Everything I’ve got has already been said, sir.”

“C’mon Peter, you’re not being graded for this. Just have a go.”

He looks back at MJ.

“Um… I guess, in theory, some kind of government monitoring of enhanced individuals is necessary due to the potential… I mean, not monitoring mutant genes would could be harmful to the population at large, and would mean enhanceds could hide potentially vital information about their abilities and genetic makeup from people close to them, particularly partners.”

“They’re not sex offenders, they’re innocent people trying to live their lives,” comes a voice from across the room, and Peter pretends he hasn’t noticed MJ staring him down.

“I know. I know.” He inhales. “But I don’t think enhanced individuals should ever expect to have a normal life. If they can do the things they can do… If they have their abilities and something bad happens for it, then it is because of them. Even if that’s something as simple as the risk of unsafe pregnancy, or bad genetics, or uh, a workplace hazard.”

“This has been explored in the past, Preposition X caused widespread protest in-”

“Peter’s not necessarily arguing for forced sterilisation like Prep X though, this is just the registration of…”

“Hey, wait wait wait,” a voice pipes up from a few seats along from MJ, “Peter Parker, isn’t it? Aren’t you the guy with the Stark Internship?”

“No interrupting please,” Mr Efthimiou sighs, but the boy has the floor anyway now.

Peter’s eyes widened, and he looked behind him, as if there were any other Peter Parkers who worked with the Tony Stark. A few onlookers tittered.

“Uh, yeah?” He said, and cleared his throat when the words seemed to catch.

“Well, what sort of stance does SI have on the Accords? Since the CEO is the one who’s so for the Accords.”

“Um, Mr. Stark isn’t the CEO, that’s Ms. Potts. I- I think Mr. Stark is like, head of R&D or something.”

“Yeah, OK, but still a Stark heir and whatnot. So what does Stark think? You know him right?”

Peter’s face goes red.

“I… I, uh, I mean, um, I don’t really work with Mr. Stark personally, I’m just on, uh, their internship programme,” he lies. His ears are burning.

“That’s not what Thompson said.”

“Flash doesn’t know shi- I, uh, I mean, Flash doesn’t know anything. About my internship, I mean.”

“Flash talks out his ass,” someone behind him said, and there were more giggles, and a stern look over Peter’s head from Mr. Efthimiou. 

“Yeah, OK, but they must have made some kind of statement or something to interns on it right? Since you represent SI and whatnot,” the boy shot back, persistent.

Yeah, yeah. Peter was stupid. Why did that spider have to bite him? This guy- Peter thinks his name is Jermaine- would have been a much better fit.

“Well, uh, I’m not sure, but I’d imagine we’re not obliged to agree with Mr. Stark. We’re high school interns, not board members, a-and anyway, I, uh, I think Mr. Stark likes to keep SI separate from Iron Man.”

“So they don’t force you either way then? What do you think then?”

Peter’s mind goes to Toomes, and how for the first few weeks after Homecoming, he’d awake in a cold sweat, a phantom ache in his shoulder and startle at the green LED on his alarm clock, remembering those pseudo-eyes and their unwavering glare as they dropped him from thousands of feet above New York’s skyscrapers.

Then he thinks about what gave him nightmare before that; how they’d killed Ben with a regular pistol. No mutations, no Chitauri tech, no Stark Industries logo. And Spider-man had only ever been to stop that happening again, to anyone else’s uncle, or brother, or nephew. 

When had everything gotten so complicated?

“I don’t… I’m supposed to be arguing for monitoring enhanceds, so yeah. I don’t know. That, I guess.”

“Yeah man, stop trying to throw off the debate by picking on Parker…”

Mr Efthimiou looked satisfied, so Peter retreats in on himself again as the debate begins to pick up around him.

When the bell goes for lunch, Peter doesn’t wait around for Ned and MJ. He throws backpack no.36 roughly over his shoulder and pulls his jacket tight around him as he heads for the boys’ toilets near the history classrooms. It’s a large, echoey room at the end of a corridor, and he’s pretty sure he and Ned are the only ones who ever use it, given there’s a much more modern one at the other end of the block. He locks the cubicle behind him and barely waits before climbing the tiles up to a small window at the top of the bathroom and swinging out onto the roof. He sits crossed-legged against a broken air conditioning unit, unseen from every angle except the roof of the maths block opposite, and only then does he allow himself to breathe.

He stays that way for a while, ignoring the protests of his gurgling stomach in favour of leaning his head back and closing his eyes, letting the April breeze muss his hair over his face.

_Should enhanced peoples be monitored by the government?_

Why was he getting so worked up over this? He wasn’t a mutant, not really. It was a common misconception, largely due to the term “mutant” originating as a slur before being reclaimed (or so some argued) as a colloquialism within the enhanced community. Technically, “mutants” were born with their enhancements, while Peter was firmly in the category of “mutates”; those who had gained their enhancements.

For a while, he’d clung to that. He wasn’t like the mutant girl who’d been shot by her parents in what they claimed as a “mercy killing”. He wasn’t anything to do with the X-men affiliate group that got pepper sprayed during a peaceful protest in Manhattan. When Ned handed him a mutant rights badge- “some guy on my block was handing these out”- Peter put it in his pocket and pleaded his identity.

_Should enhanced peoples be monitored by the government?_

If he was being honest, he knew a dismal amount about the history of mutant rights. He’d read the occasional news story about investigations into abuse at residential schools for mutants before he got his powers, and while he wouldn’t infer it wasn’t sad, it incited no more grief in him than reading about child poverty in Brooklyn or anthropogenic droughts in Cape Town. 

He’d be lying if he said he knew what was at stake when he went to Germany. Stupid, stupid Peter- he’d gone in all guns blazing, a hot-headed teen boy wearing a multi-million dollar suit, not thinking about politics or beliefs or, god-forbid, repercussions. It wasn’t until the swelling on his eye had gone down that he could see clearly: half the Avengers had gone rogue, there was talk of the threat posed and how giving mutants the gimmick of superhero had obscured their potential to become a threat and left too much power in the hands of those who ought not hold it. And Spider-Man’s face was there, on every report, every blurry CCTV shot of Leipzig Airport of him lifting a tanker cross-referenced with a video of him doing something comparably banal on the side-streets of Manhattan, while over and over the anchor asked why Spider-Man felt he needed to wear a mask. 

He spends the rest of his lunch hour staring at the clouds and imagining what it would be like to swing between them, mask off, hair whipping round his face as the condensation cooled the sweat on his brow.

There’s a buzz in the back of his head when he drags himself back to Room Eng-104 after the bell. Sort of spidey-sense, but not really. Not an immediate danger- or even a danger at all- rather a sense off something being off. If the world was his web, this was an oddly large water droplet hanging in the corner; too late for dew but too early for rain. Probably his spider-sense knew he didn’t want to be here.

That’s when he hears it.

“Has anyone seen Cindy?”

Peter’s not seen Cindy, but something clicks anyway.

“Hey sir,” he pipes up, and MJ looks up from her book (Iain McEwan’s _The Wasp Factory_ , the first fiction in a long while), “Can I get a hall pass?”

“Parker, we just had lunch, really?”

“I didn’t need it then sir. Please, Cindy might be running late and I won’t be too long. Please,” he hears himself saying, wondering when he stopped caring enough to beg. Perhaps because Flash isn’t here. No one in this classroom particularly cares about anyone else- they tolerate each other for this week only and then go back to their respective classes. 

Cindy isn’t running late. Peter knows this, and as Mr Efthimiou reluctantly relinquishes the hall pass, he grabs it and sets off down the corridor in the opposite direction to the boys bathroom.

He stops outside the heavy door of the girls’ bathroom. Maybe Spider-Man wouldn’t hesitate, but he wasn’t Spider-Man right now. And, of course, there’s the suffocating anxiety pressing on his diaphragm that seems too familiar, and he finds himself wondering if he ever saw himself optionally back here. 

He flexes his wrist, arching his fingers up over his palm to feel for the warm plastic set at the base of his palm. They’re his old shooters- he wants something at school, for moments like this more than anything if he’s really honest with himself, and he’s not cocky enough to stunt Stark tech in school, let alone on the subway home. He’s still a little bit Spidey though- he always is, no matter how much he tries to play the alter-ego thing off on himself- and right now, that’s all that gets him to push the door open.

She’s sat on the surface by the taps, scrubbing at her face as Peter’s trainers squeak against the linoleum floor. When she looks up, she looks meek- scared even- but her face hardens when she meets Peter’s eyes.

“You know this is the girls bathroom right? I know there are rumours about you but I didn’t think they were true.”

The back of Peter’s neck prickles at the remark, but he brushes off the back-handed transphobia to focus on the red rimming the girl’s eyes, the blotching of her chubby cheeks, the way she rubs her clavicle as she talks.

“I heard you crying.”

“You don’t get to be the good guy if you’re loitering outside of the girls toilets either, Parker.”

“No, I mean…” he takes a deep breath, and looks down at his shoes as he admits, “I heard you from the classroom.”

There’s a pause, and Peter can hear the debate getting heated again a few rooms down.

“Look,” he said, and roots around in his jacket pocket, still not daring to make eye contact with Cindy, “I don’t have all the answers. But, uh, my friend gave me this, and I think you should have it.”

He still doesn’t look up as he holds out the badge, not even to see her expression as she takes it cautiously, turning it over in her palm.

“Why… Why did you say all that stuff? Why do you let them make you say that?”

Peter doesn’t know. He had an idea, but he doesn’t really want to try therapy for the first time (May’s been bugging him about it) with a high school sophomore he’s talked to all of twice.

“Seems easier that way.”

He doesn’t have much else to say to Cindy after that, and being in the girls’ bathroom after so long was pushing a familiar weight down on his chest, so he takes his leave, though not without mustering a small smile and a quiet “I’m sorry”. 

Cindy follows him back to the classroom after a few minutes, and when she comes in and meets his eyes for the briefest of moments, she looks as if she’s never been upset at all. That’s always fascinated Peter about girls. If he was that skilled at wearing masks, he’d have no need for the stuffy cloth one he wore as Spider-man.

_Should enhanced peoples be monitored by the government?_

As he stares down at the worksheet for the remainder of the afternoon, he wonders if he missed part of being a superhero. He was supposed to protect people, wasn’t he? Their wellbeing? 

He wants to ask May about it. No, that’s a lie- he wants to ask Mr Stark about it. He was supposed to know right? But they weren’t there yet. And the man was in the Phillippines. Or on his way there at any rate.

“We did stuff about the Accords today. About monitoring… You know, people like me,” he sighs into his dinner (an only slightly burnt meatloaf).

“Hmm?” May’s answer is more of an invitation to continue.

“Don’t you think about… Well, how people think of the stuff I can do? Of people like me? It’s… I dunno… I probably shouldn’t let it get to me, but some of the stuff today hurt,” he mumbled. If he couldn’t say it to May then who could he say it to? “Or maybe not even the stuff they said, more that, it’s a debate in the first place, y’know?” he adds around a mouthful, looking anywhere but at his aunt.

She seems to get what he’s driving at. She always does.

“Of course I have hun, we all read the news. You know I worry about you. I guess, with all the… spidering, I worry a lot more about you getting hurt stopping a bank robbery or alien invasion than I do about you getting jumped. And, well, as much as I disagree with a lot of the decisions you’ve made- we’ve discussed this Peter,” she says in warning, as his head flicks up in indignation, “I think your decision to keep your identity- and your abilities- under wraps was a wise choice.”

He remembers the community centre where he learnt to skateboard. They offered support sessions for enhanced individuals and their families- he and Ben had seen the printed A4 signs when asking the youth worker whether he’d need his own shin pads. The next week when Peter had arrived for his first lesson, the windows had been smashed in, with “MUTIE SCUM” spray-painted three-foot-high on the wall next to it. It’d been closed down since then; the building remained out of use, and nowadays all the windows are smashed in. He doesn’t know if the graffiti is still there. 

He missed Ben. It had almost been a year.

He wonders when Spider-man went from being a strange part of the grieving process to something more. Perhaps it always had been more- just like Germany was always going to be more than just that one battle-

“Tony’s talked to me about it though. About the Accords, and you being registered.”

Peter’s head snaps up. “I’m being registered?”

“No, you’re not. He never wanted you to.”

“…He didn’t?”

“He said he was going to talk to you about it. I don’t know enough about this, Petey. You could talk to him on Friday about it?”

“I’m not seeing him on Friday. He’s away,” Peter replies bluntly. And then, “May, please don’t make me go in tomorrow. It’s… I dunno. Everyone talks about it like it’s theoretical, like… like mutants don’t exist, and I get this… panic,” he puts his hand on his chest, and lets May put her hand on his shoulder. She’s so tender, and for a moment he feels eleven-years-old again, before the bite, chewing his lip and trying not to cry as he tells May about the new middle-school bully who snapped his glasses.

“I’m not going to make you if you really can’t, Peter. But if you’re staying, then I want you to talk to Tony about this.”

“I told you, he’s away. Plus, he’s probably too busy anyway.”

“Oh, he will make time for my nephew,” May insists, and there’s a fire in her eyes when he looks up at her. It’s a little scary right now, but he’s always liked that about her. It feels nice to have someone on his side.

He thinks about Cindy again, and feels guilty.

“I’ll think about it. Going in, I mean. And I’ll talk to Mr Stark when he’s back, I guess. Um, I’ll… um… I’ll clear the plates May, don’t worry about it.”

He gets a text when he’s brushing his teeth.

**_Hey kiddo, ur hot aunt says we need to talk about the accords. Tuesday after school next week sound good?_**

**I don’t have school next week Mr Stark, but sure 😊👍 Hope 🇵🇭 is good?**

**_Full day up at the compound if you’re up for it then? bring ur suit._**

**_and yeah the phillippines is great, they have the best food, remind me to bring you back some polvoron_**

**sounds good 😊✨🕷️**

The reply is short, especially so for Peter, and Mr Stark seems to pick up on that, because moments after he plugs his phone in it buzzes again, this time with an attachment.

It’s one of those badly photoshopped iterations of a cat hanging from a rope, with the caption telling him to “hang in there!”. Peter snorts, and something lifts off his shoulders, but doesn’t reply, instead locking the phone and turning over in bed.

Tony Stark was cool, but he really wished he had Ben back for this one. He’d know what to say.

Maybe it was the lack of patrol (he really wasn’t up to it. That’s a bad excuse, but he’s allowed a night off, right?) but Peter’s not sure he’s slept that well in a long time.

“You going in today then hun?” May asks, partially into her coffee. It’s Tuesday, so her shift doesn’t start until midday, but Peter appreciates that she gets out of bed to see him off to school. He shrugs, and picks up an apple, tossing it in the air deftly. Before he can take a bite, May interrupts. 

“Much as I’m not complaining to see you optionally eating a piece of fruit, there’s scrambled eggs on the stove Pete, eat a proper breakfast.” 

He grins, and she smiles back, and it feels good. 

He wishes Ben was here, but not in the way that he normally does, with a tight chest and a sharp throat. Ben would have loved the weather, loved the oasis of peace in their apartment in the middle of the Queens rush hour. He’d kiss May there where she was standing, early morning sun framing her figure as she leant against the counter, highlighting the loose threads on her cardi as she fiddled with her wedding ring. Then he’d smile at Peter and Peter would feel important. He’d not felt important in a while. 

Not without the Spider-Man suit on, at least. 

He’d been thinking. 

Maybe Ben would want him to change that. It was just him and May now, so he was the one to place a kiss on her cheek in that pool of sunlight, to place his hand over hers for a moment to stop her fiddling. 

“Ben would be proud of you, hun.” 

Maybe tears sting his eyes a little then, but for the first time in a while, it’s ok. He helps himself to eggs and smiles at her, and she smiles back. Enrichment week in-school courses start at 10am, so he finds himself with more time than normal, and he makes the most of it before heading out the door, ready to face the day. 

He scribbles in his notebook- the same on with his web formulas in, ironically- on the train to school, nearly missing his stop as he chewed on his pen. 

Ned finally corners him in the History hallway a few minutes before the “retreat” is supposed to kick off its second day. 

“Dude! I wanted to speak to you! Are you OK? Yesterday was.. yeah man. I’m sorry. I think MJ feels bad. And I think she knows about, y’know…” he mimes shooting webs, and Peter bats at his shoulder. 

“Yeah, I mean, I think she’s known for a while, and I think I’ve known she knows too. But, uh, keep it DL anyway right? Just in case.” 

“Yeah yeah, sure thing man, lips are sealed. But for real, are you good?” 

Peter thinks, and for the first time in a while, answers honestly, “Yeah, Ned. I think I am.” 

They shuffle in just about on time (as if anyone cares- Mr Efthimiou’s hiding behind a grande Starbucks order and isn’t taking roll) but Peter doesn’t settle in. He lets things kick off, but before much happens, and before he chickens out, he stands, scraping his chair across the floor, and takes a deep breath. 

“Um, there’s… There’s something I wanted to say, to start, if that’s OK.” 

Mr Efthimiou nods, and Peter waits until he has the full attention of the class, and MJ puts down her book, before he unfolds the paper in his jeans pocket and starts reading.

“The thing is, sir, I support the Accords, I think Mr Stark is right, a-about responsibility and… and stuff. But it’s not a yes-no question- the Accords have already been ratified but there’s thousands of pages of law and millions of different people it affects, right?” He sounds like he’s trying to reassure himself, rather than convince everyone, but he has the room in silence now so he ploughs on regardless. 

“Firstly, I wanna take back what I said about enhanced people yesterday, things like that hurt people and… and… yeah.” Peter takes another breath, and looks anywhere but at Cindy, or Ned, or MJ. Or Mr Efthimiou, for that matter. 

“I guess… I don’t want to argue for something I don’t believe in, like… l-like it’s not happening right now, not something like this that a-affects… affects real people’s lives, people… people I know. It’s not theoretical or abstract or… it’s real, you know?” He tries not to choke on his words. “I don’t think it’s a reflection on you, Mr Efthimiou, sir, or anyone in this classroom, I just… I had to say it. There’s this huge historical struggle for mutant rights I don’t even understand, some that I think we can never hope to understand because it’s under-documented or lived experience, but I know we’ve come so far and… enhanceds don’t get a choice about being the way they are, we- they’re just trying to live our lives. Their lives.” Shit. “If the elected government wants to control the Avengers and mutants who offer their powers as services then, I mean, OK, like I said, um, thousands of pages of legislature with a bunch of technicalities… But for us, I think, debating the fundamental freedom of people like our friends and family doesn’t achieve anything. And… And it’s wrong.” 

“Um… that’s it,” he finishes lamely, grabbing his bag and heading out the door before Mr Efthimiou could stop him. He’d left a couple of pens on his desk, but they’d have to be a worthy sacrifice for his pride. 

He gets halfway down the hall, heart racing in his ears, when there’s a clattering of footsteps behind him. For a moment Peter’s scared Mr Efthimiou has changed his mind and he’s going to have to face that classroom of inquisitive faces again. He’s pretty sure he’d prefer a room full of Vultures than having to face that. Only the steps are a little more irregular, and there’s more of a comedic slapping of sneakers against the tiles than any sound Mr Efthimiou’s loafers would make, so Peter turns around to Ned and MJ catching up to him, bags swung over their shoulders. 

“Hey man.” 

“Hey,” Peter smiles politely. 

“Can I just say… that was awesome.” 

“I said “we”, didn’t I?” 

“To be fair man, I don’t think it made a difference. You could tell it meant a lot to you.” 

“Yeah, you looked like you were gonna shit your pants,” MJ teases, and his face is burning again, but it’s a different kind of feeling now. He’s not sure he’s heard MJ swear before. 

It’s weirdly hot. 

“It’s fine man, all the kids in there don’t talk to each other, they’ll all go off for spring break and boom. Forgotten about.” 

“Yeah, that classroom was so warm I’d be surprised if anyone still remembered in an hour.” 

“Right? I was highkey gonna fall asleep until Peter brought the smackdowns,” Ned said, making Thor-esque gestures with his hands. 

“You good though loser?” 

“Hm, what?” Peter knows what she means, of course he does, but he doesn’t want to admit that he was, as she so eloquently put it, ready to shit his pants. 

Ned swings an imaginary Mjolnir at his face, laughing when he flinches back slightly. “Let’s flake. I don’t think Efthimiou is expecting us back, let’s be honest. You learnt public speaking on behalf of two of us.” 

“What about MJ?” Peter replies, and MJ just gives him a pointed look. “Fair enough.” 

“That’s it, that’s MJ’s debate skills, right there. She doesn’t need anything else,” Ned laughs, and Peter joins in when MJ punches him in the shoulder and he mimes being mortally wounded. 

“Forreal though, let’s go do something dumb.” 

“I want milkshakes. Let’s get milkshakes.” 

“At that shitty diner,” Peter agrees, and Ned’s grin is wide in agreement. 

“Let’s go, Spider-boy,” MJ says, and Ned and Peter share a glance, “Celebratory milkshakes for the loser that found his voice,” and then, a little quieter, but not so quiet that Ned couldn’t hear anyway, “I’m proud of you, tiger.” 

Cindy Moon will still struggle, the Raft will not be decommissioned for a long time, and Peter’s stomach will still feel hollow when he catches a headline about an anti-mutant hate crime in few days time. For now, however, Peter Parker feels safe on the arms of his friends, and his biggest threat is his lactose intolerance. 

He’s only got one mask to wear. 

**Author's Note:**

> considering cindy like she's treated in hoco, with a nod to her being silk. 
> 
> hamfisted fuckin allegory for all my hoes that had to sit through "should we hate gays or nah" type debates at school. or similar. i was in high school when gay marriage was legalised in my country though, so, hot topic i guess.
> 
> also, kinda something i learnt a while back- i'm pretty outspoken, and i've been told to be less so a lot. one time when i was like 18, i went on a long weekend with my abusive father (bad idea, i know), his parents and his sister and my cousins. bad fuckin time, i've since been disowned by my paternal grandparents etc etc, but i didn't get nothing out the trip. i was super vocal about trans and gay rights when they came up (all that side of the family are super conservative, surprise surprise) and my cousin ended up coming out to me as trans. it's always just been me, and it's not that i don't argue for things that don't affect me (i'm nb but don't consider myself trans) but i guess it just. it mattered, yknow?
> 
> that said, i don't blame people that don't speak, because they're afraid, or they're closeted, etc. i'm super lucky my mum is accepting but i know not everyone is there (yet!!! it always gets better my good bitch) but if you do, thank you. be that outspoken person for the quiet closeted kid in your class. it means the world to us.
> 
> it comes up every now and again- i'm an out lesbian in what i thought was a class of straights, until a closeted gay guy from a more homophobic country told someone i'm close to that he's glad he gets to see me be accepted- and it keeps me going every time, even when i feel like i'm fighting a one man battle :)
> 
> also pls send your good vibes to my trans cousin, and all my other trans and lgb+ folx reading this <3
> 
> trans peter 4 lyfe!!!! also no major shade to tony in this, i'm the biggest irondad hoe but their relationship is complicated yfeel


End file.
